05-21-2017, 08:08 AM
… curiosity killed the cat &
satisfaction brought him back
satisfaction brought him back
The black beast lays comfortably in the shallows of one of Tephra's larger water basins, his legs folded beneath him and just off to the side. The pond is fed by a combination of a mountain stream and a lava drip, offering him perpetually (and perfectly) warm water. He has moved away from his favorite copse of trees - the ones nestled just at the volcano's base - for the time being, opting to appear more approachable to the other citizens of Tephra.
His mind wanders, as much as he tries to force it not to, to the thought of Lucrezia and her soon-to-be-born offspring. The black beast scolds himself internally, a silent reminder that he has no right to feel betrayed or anything akin to that, when he has not found the courage to tell his Queen just how he feels for her. It's a daunting thing, to feel this way. He remembers Desole telling him (in one of their very, very few personal conversations) about the first time she told his father the way she felt for him, and how her stomach would have rolled and emptied its contents, had it been able.
Now, he understands.
The councilman sighs and adjusts his position slightly, but is mostly content to remain in the water that nearly laps over his dark back. The steam from the pond has plastered his mane to his muscled neck, making him look quite like a drowned rat, but the black thoroughbred doesn't mind in the least.
He has been called worse.
His mind wanders, as much as he tries to force it not to, to the thought of Lucrezia and her soon-to-be-born offspring. The black beast scolds himself internally, a silent reminder that he has no right to feel betrayed or anything akin to that, when he has not found the courage to tell his Queen just how he feels for her. It's a daunting thing, to feel this way. He remembers Desole telling him (in one of their very, very few personal conversations) about the first time she told his father the way she felt for him, and how her stomach would have rolled and emptied its contents, had it been able.
Now, he understands.
The councilman sighs and adjusts his position slightly, but is mostly content to remain in the water that nearly laps over his dark back. The steam from the pond has plastered his mane to his muscled neck, making him look quite like a drowned rat, but the black thoroughbred doesn't mind in the least.
He has been called worse.
break some bread for all my sins